Hidden memories
by DemonicHime
Summary: Pictures may fade, but memories last forever... Words are not the only things that can tell a story. In this case, photos tell more than words.
1. Remembering

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI, any of its characters, or any other movie reference I may decide to put in.

Spoilers: There are some references to Nesting Dolls

A/N: There are some mild references to abuse and alcohol. I could really use a beta reader, please tell me if interested.

Hidden Memories

Chapter 1

_Memory... is the diary that we all carry about with us. _

_Oscar Wilde_

My name is Sara Sidle. I don't go to parties, or have a ton of friends. I'm probably best known as Sara Sidle, CSI level 3 at the Las Vegas Crime lab. If you've been there before, you've probably heard of me by my other name.

I'm best known as THE workaholic, beside the infamous Gil Grissom of course. If you asked any of my co-workers about me, they wouldn't know much. Sara Sidle was an enigma to them, a mystery novel waiting to be read. They would never ask, and I'm not planning to tell them.

I'm not really the person who likes to write things down, or "share my feelings" as I quote our department's shrink. And yet, there's one small book in the back of my closet that would spill all. If a normal person would glance at it, you would only see a regular photo album, nothing too extravagant, just enough to hold pictures.

But for this girl, it holds my memories, my survival story, if you will, telling the mysterious twists and turns of my life which made who I am today.

If you open the first page, you would notice a happy family of three, including a beaming father, a beautiful mother, and a cheerful, gap toothed girl, staring back. It was taken by my brother, who was at the time obsessed with his camera.

My father was lovingly holding his wife and brown haired daughter, just having a fun day at the beach. To tell you the truth, it was my only real memory of us all being together as one of those picture perfect families. At the age of 4, my peaceful loving family started to crumble.

The next few chapters in my life were the darkest yet. My father started coming home later from work, and either drinking to the point he passed out on the couch, or started yelling at my mother. He would never yell at me, unless drunk.

I think my mother was even sometimes jealous of his "little angel." My brother would just shut himself the peaceful bliss of his room.

The next picture shows a small house with a little mailbox in the front yard, if you could call it a front yard. It was just a small yard with patches of grass in the front. We lived in a small but quaint neighborhood; everyone knew one another. And yet, our neighbors could hear the yelling and arguments that were apart of our everyday life.

They felt sorry for me and my brother, giving us cookies and the occasional treat. Even though the whole neighborhood knew, no one would offer to help my mother.

About a year later, my father lost his job and spent the rest of his money on beer. My mother had to work 2 jobs now, while trying to hold together this so called family. After the first black eye, the day my brother turned 18, he left without a word to anyone. I never heard from him again.

It wasn't until I was 8 years old, that I experienced my first act of kindness.

No one, except for Mrs. Doe, little old lady, who was taking care of her two grandchildren, spending all her money on them, never thinking of herself. She was making it her personal mission to cheer me up, comforting me as a grandmother would.

She sometimes spent afternoons letting me read her collection of books, while telling me some stories about when her father was the owner of a famous Jazz club in Las Vegas. After many afternoons sharing tea and listening to jazz music, we became good friends.

Before moving away to help her daughter in New Jersey, she gave me her favorite book, Romeo and Juliet. I asked her why she liked this book the most, with the sad ending. She said that it's her favorite book because even though they both died in the end, the two lovers were happy together, and would die for the other.

_Remember Sara, there is no point in living your life with regret, or life is yours to miss, there's no day but today to life your life to the fullest._

_You can't control what happens in life, but you can take control of how you live. If you live your life to the fullest, you will never regret, and be happy._

I never forgot those words, and still live by them today. As I watched her drive away, I saw her mouth the words, "No day but today."

The next two years flew by, with yelling, tears, and trips to the hospital. But on the fifth of November, my life made a huge turn.

I can still remember the fights, the smell of the paint on the walls, the sight of the blood. I even remember the sight of the social worker that came and got me, holding my hand trying to comfort me. The flashes of the police lights are still vivid in my mind, as is the sympathetic glances thrown my way.

But somehow, I survived. I survived the first 10 years of my life, believing what I had called home was considered normal. You know how they say that everybody should have a perfect childhood? Well I did, my childhood just ended earlier than most.

At the ripe young age of 10, my innocence was stripped; I had my first experience of death. Even though I was only ten, my mind was one of an adult.

It was the only way I knew how to live, the only way I knew to survive.

A/N: Please Review, I would like to know how I did on my first fic. I'll try updating soon ( And yes I was inspired by Rent)


	2. Fighting

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI, or any of its characters

A/N - Sorry for not updating for a while, I 'll try updating sooner. Please Review, I would like to know what to improve.

Hidden Memories

Chapter 2

_Is it true that grownups have a more difficult time than we do? No. I know it isn't. Older people have formed their opinions and don't waver before they act. It's twice as hard for us young ones to hold our ground, and maintain our opinions, in a time where all ideals are being shattered and destroyed, when people are showing their worst sides, and do not know whether to believe in truth and right and God._

_Anyone who claims that the older ones have a more difficult time here certainly does not realize to what extent our problems weigh on us, problems for which we are probably to young, but which thrust themselves upon us continually until after a long period of time. We think we've found a solution, but the solution doesn't seem able to resist the facts which reduce it to nothing again. _

_That is the difficulties in these times: ideals, dreams and cherished hopes rise within us only to meet the horrible truth and be shattered. _

_Anne Frank_

I've always remembered that excerpt from _The Diary of Anne Frank_. It was one of the few things I actually remember from class. I was always compelled by her words, how she saw the world and analyzed the truth.

I think it was because of how that how I felt mostly during my high school years, shifting from home to home, trying to find a logical explanation on why my parents did what they did.

It was the time in your life when life is supposed to be the best, an experience where most adults would give anything to have again. Even though it's tough, most have managed to enjoy it. Unfortunately, I was not one of them.

As the few pictures in this scrapbook, I have few happy memories of high school.

Focusing all my time into my studies, I barely had time for anything else. I still remember the whispers, the girl with the mother who killed her father.

No one would speak to me, fearing they would be made fun of as well. After a while, I grew used to it and wouldn't care anymore.

I grew unattached to the world, throwing myself into my studies. I wanted to excel, become the forensic scientist I always wanted to become. I wanted to use science to solve puzzles, the satisfied feeling you get after solving a challenging mystery. But most importantly, I wanted to save those who couldn't save themselves.

I wanted to fight.

I think it's funny how when you're a kid all you want to do is grow up, and yet all the adults wish they were kids. Like a child desperately wanting to do everything themselves, I wanted to save the world.

But mostly, I wanted to save myself.

As I look back, I think my college years were the best of my life. It was then, that point in my life where I slowly learned to fight. I graduated high school at the age of 16, then being accepted into Harvard with a scholarship.

I made some friends, those with different interests, but loved me for who I was. I went to parties, started relaxing more, even started dating.

Even after leaving college, I still keep in touch with them now, calling every now and then, reminiscing about old times.

It was only until now that I realize it, while looking at my scrapbook, filled with plenty of pictures of friends and graduation.

I finally learned to fight.


End file.
